Belonging
Milan guides me out of the dining room, his hand resting firmly on my ass. To the catering waiters, submissive boys from the Home for Sons of Balder without a Dominant, he gives a nod of genuine respect. “Thank you. You did wonderfully.”
The boys, who had kept their faces politely neutral until now, light up with wide smiles. One of them, a blond kid of about eighteen, catches my eye with a playful sparkle. He knows exactly what Milan is about to do with me. And the kindness in his look tells me he truly wants me to enjoy it.
As soon as the dining room door clicks shut behind us, Milan’s hand clamps harder around my ass. His fingers dig deep, greedy, and I let out a raw moan, finally giving voice to the need I’ve been holding back all evening.
He kisses the side of my neck, lips warm and soft, before his tongue traces slowly up to my ear. The touch sends a shiver down my spine. “Just a little longer, sweetheart,” he whispers, his breath hot, his voice trembling between hunger and tenderness. In the dining room he was the composed Dominant, perfectly in control; but here, with only me, his desire breaks loose.
The hallway is dark, lit only by the soft glow of a night light at the end. The walk to our bedroom isn't long, but now it feels much too long. The sparse light reflects occasionally in the shiny leather of Milan's tight uniform. But what affects me most is the animalistic part of it all: the smell of his sweat mixed with the smell of his leathers, warm from a day of wear. So close, I can smell his lust, almost taste it.
When we finally stand in front of our bedroom door, Milan lets go of me for a moment to open the door. I step inside impatiently as soon as the door swings open.
A hard slap on my butt echoes loudly in the room. SMACK. The warm, horny glow immediately spreads through my body.
Milan looks at me sternly. He doesn't need to say anything, his gaze says it all, I shouldn't have entered the bedroom without his permission. But behind the sternness in his eyes, I see glimmers of pleasure.
SMACK
I moan lustfully, unashamed.
The pleasure in Milan's eyes now comes to the fore. “You like that, don't you, my little slut?”
“Yes, Sir,” I begin to feel not only horny but also more submissive.
Milan closes the bedroom door and locks it.
CLICK
I am now locked in his domain. In his power, under his authority.
My eyes adjust to the dim light. The room is luxurious, exciting but also safe, warm, saturated, sizzling with possibilities. The matte black of the paneling, above it, deep red velvet glistens in the soft light of a single, discreet wall lamp. Everything exudes dominance, refinement, and control.
On the walls hang photos of boys like me. Boys kneeling, lying down, waiting. None of them look into the lens. They are somewhere else, within themselves, in their surrender. I recognize myself in these anonymous boys. In their surrender, their passion now frozen in an image.
My gaze slides to the low bed in the middle of the room. Matte black steel, leather headboard, neatly made with shiny satin. There are rings in the frame. For attachment. For... me? Within reach of the bed is a low cabinet made of dark walnut. It houses oils, lubricants, and other necessities.
In the corner of the room is a low, wide bench without armrests. Deep black leather, softly shiny, with a firm seat and a backrest just high enough to lean against. Not cold modern furniture, but inviting and austere at the same time.
My cock is already throbbing. Everything in this room is for him. But for me as well.
Milan calmly gives me time to take in the space.
After a short while he sits down on the bench in the corner of the room. “Come here,” Milan taps invitingly on the leather of his lap.
I don't hesitate and stand next to him.
He pulls my pants down to my thighs, exposing my buttocks. “You've earned your place,” he says, pulling me over his lap. “And yes, obedient boys sometimes get what they want...” His hand slides over my ass. “Sometimes.”
SMACK
I moan loudly, it feels so good.
“Say it,” he whispers as he strikes again. “Who wants this?”
I pant. The first strokes linger softly, but it's far from enough, my ass tingles with desire. “I want this, Sir.”
“Then you'll get it, Jelte. Until you can feel nothing else.”
SMACK. Heat. SMACK. I hiss between my teeth. SMACK. My ass burns, but the burn is bliss.
Every slap hits the mark. Not cruel, but deliberate, constructive, rhythmic, addictive.
I feel the tension building, the lust burning in my lower abdomen, creeping up my body. My cock feels so tight that I know it could go wrong at any moment.
SMACK. I can barely hold back anymore.
“Sir...” I gasp, my voice breaking. “I'm about to... I...”
Milan doesn't answer with words.
SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACK
A staccato of quick, sharp taps, hard. The pain bites into my ass, shooting through my body like a shockwave. I gasp for breath. The excitement ebbs. My lust settling deeper, calmer, like a river that was about to overflow and now flows steady in its bed.
I sigh. Trembling. Grateful.
Milan's hand rests for a moment. He strokes my buttocks gently, in circles, comforting me.
“Good,” he whispers. “stay here, boy. With me.”
He gently massages my ass, alternating with a few hot taps. I know I can let myself go now, Milan is keeping my lust under control for me. I sink into a wonderful daze.
After a timeless moment of bliss, I feel his hand on my back, guiding me, inviting me.
“Come up,” he says calmly. “Now you can do something for me.”
I move slowly, still trembling, and turn and lower myself so that I am between his legs. He looks down at me, his eyes full of lust and satisfaction at the same time.
His hand slides to his belt. He slowly undoes it, the buckle tapping softly against the leather of his pants. Then he opens his fly. The sound of creaking leather sounds as if it were meant especially for me.
His cock is freed, enormous, firm, proud, and beautiful. I feel my mouth watering at the sight of it.
“Show me how obedient you really are,” he says, his voice calm but hoarse with lust.
I nod, without words. My hands rest on his thighs, and I bend over and gently lick the shaft Milan offers me. The tastes and smells are intense and remind me of the best moments during my trial week with Milan.
I feel Milan's hand rest on my neck for a moment, then he lets go. He says nothing more. No command. No correction. Just his open body. His breathing slowing, deepening. His gaze that says: This is your moment.
I understand. This is mine to give.
I cup him at the base, stroking slowly, reverently. My lips wrap around him, wet and eager, sliding down inch by inch.
His breath deepens, but he stays silent. Only his stomach tightens, his fingers clawing the leather of the bench. He lets me serve. He lets me worship.
I take him deeper. Not fast. Not sloppy. But with devotion, hollowing my cheeks, tongue working the thick vein along the underside. I want him to feel it, that I’m not just sucking his cock, I’m giving him all of me.
My mouth moves in rhythm with my breath. My hand supports, alternating with my tongue, with small licks, that sensitive part, just under his glans. I pause, letting my cheeks suck the air in, his skin tingling with attention. I want to bring him to the point where he almost loses control, but not quite.
His fingers tense around the edge of the couch. His stomach tightens.
I know: he's almost there. And still he says nothing. Because this is mine. My service to him. My honor.
Only his breathing, now irregular, fills the room. Then his voice sounds, low and commanding... “Look at me when you swallow my cum, you cock hungry slut.”
His words almost undo me. I fight not to explode untouched.
As best I can, my mouth filled of his pulsing cock, I look up, deep into his commanding eyes. For a moment, his consciousness seems to drift to another dimension. He moans, low and deep. I feel him pulse, hot streams filling my mouth. I take it all, swallowing greedily, my eyes never leaving his. The familiar smell and taste, sweet, salty, with a bitter edge. Refined in taste, just like Milan himself.
I let him slowly slide out of my mouth, my lips still softly trembling with his taste. I lick what remains from his shaft, then from my own lips, pulling it back into my mouth where it belongs.
Milan slumps back on the couch, his head against the backrest, his breathing heavy but satisfied. His hand finds my hair and slides lazily through it.
“Well done,” he says low, his voice raw. “You're fucking perfect.”
Slowly, he pulls me up and against him. His chest is warm under the leather, his heartbeat steady. He kisses my temple, not possessively, but... proudly. He holds me there, against his body, while his breathing slowly returns to its normal rhythm.
He gets up, takes off his pants without rushing, and then takes my hand.
“Come,” he says softly. “Let's go to bed. I want to feel you. Later.”
We crawl onto the bed together. Me on my stomach, him on his side lying against me, his arms wrapped tightly around me. His hand is on my still-glowing ass, I look sideways at him. I feel his breath on my face.
In the silence of the room, surrounded by the red and black. Colors of discipline and devotion, I feel the tension returning. His body is recovering. And with every breath, his Dominance comes back to life.
We lie still as Milan lifts his head and kisses my neck. “Stay still,” he whispers, his voice controlled but low again. He gets up and leaves the bed. I hear the cabinet open. Bottles, glass vials, a cap being unscrewed. The scent of warm oil fills the room, spicy.
I feel his weight on the bed again. His hands spread my legs; he takes his time. His fingers, now shiny with oil, touch my ass. One finger circles lazily around my opening, without penetrating. The warmth makes me soft, makes me open.
“As soft as you are now...” he says, “...as open...”
His words make me sigh. My whole body is listening.
“It makes me want to take you so deeply... later.”
His finger now slides inside, slowly, not searching. As if he already knows me, but still wants to explore again. The oil makes everything smooth, but he doesn't rush.
“Let go,” he says, repeating the movement, letting his finger go deeper. “I want your body to be able to receive me effortlessly, later.” A second finger follows, slowly. My breathing quickens. He kisses my lower back, slowly and purposefully, while his fingers now move rhythmically. Not to bring me to orgasm, but to prepare me. For him.
For later.
------
Milan's weight on the bed feels familiar now. His hands keep moving, slowly, patiently, as if with every touch he's telling me that I'm his. His fingers feel smooth from the oil, warm and comforting on my skin. His voice, low and tender, is close to my ear.
“You're doing so well, sweetheart,” he whispers. “I'm going to take you. But I want you to feel everything. Every moment. How deep I go inside you.”
I sigh softly. My body is sluggish, but receptive. Wide open. Ready. My head keeps switching between alertness and a blissful daze. His voice keeps bringing me back to the here and now. His words, his breath. His promise.
I feel him shift behind me. He gently lifts me by my hips, no more than a hint. I kneel, my ass up, my head and shoulders low. He positions my legs slightly further apart and I feel his legs touch mine. His hands slowly slide over my hips, to my buttocks, holding me still, holding me tight. He moves closer to me. His cock, hard and warm, slowly slides in my ass crack first. No rush. There's no need, this moment all in itself is already so wonderful.
“Breathe in,” he whispers.
I breathe in. Slowly. Deeply.
The moment has arrived. I feel his glans, pushing gently, sliding at my entrance. Not fighting, but searching. And then... a sharp pain. I am startled.
“Keep breathing deeply,” Milan's voice is deep and reassuring. “Push, as if you need to shit, you'll see that it will be easier.”
I push as if I take a shit. Milan now shoots past my sphincter. He's inside me!
Milan pauses there for a moment to let me get used to the feeling. The pain subsides and gives way to a strong desire to feel Milan even deeper inside me.
Milan's body folds over mine, warm and safe. He slowly slides further in, inch by inch. My body, now completely focused on him, opens up. No more pain. Only warmth. Only pressure.
At first I was anxious because Milan is so well-endowed. Milan is so tender and careful, I feel my body welcoming every inch of Milan.
And then. A flash, electric, unexpected, deep inside. A sudden shock of pleasure, tingling and incomprehensibly delicious. I gasp for breath, my whole body stiffening for a moment in surprise.
Milan notices immediately. His hand slides from my hip to my lower abdomen, his fingers resting softly below my navel. “There you are,” he whispers. His voice is almost mesmerizing. “Can you feel it?”
I nod, or try to. I can't say anything, only moan. It's as if my body is opening up to a language I didn't know yet. A language he is teaching me to speak...
“Your asshole feels so good, sweetheart,” he says. His body rests on me, remains still. His cock is a presence inside me, warm, pulsing. “I'm going to make you feel it. Everything.”
His hips barely move, but the little bit he pulls back and then hits that spot again makes me tremble. It's not an orgasm, not yet, but my body is already shaking in waves. Milan keeps whispering, between soft kisses on my back. “I'm going to fuck you so deep that you can't be anywhere else but with me. Just feel, just obey.”
I moan. My head is empty, but my body is glowing. Everything in me says: more.
And Milan understands me. Because he gives me more
Slowly, he starts thrusting again, gradually pulling back to hit me harder and harder; again and again that secret spot, he knows how to find it blindly. I can't help but scream with pleasure.
Milan's voice sounds full of lusty approval. “Scream, baby. Let everyone hear how deep I'm taking you. How well you're receiving me.”
I scream out loud. My body is on fire, my head is buzzing. I'm about to...
And then he stops.
For a fraction of a second, I remain frozen. Milan withdraws, slowly but surely, until I lose him completely. What remains is emptiness. Nothing but air. Cold. Open. My body protests immediately. My ass seeks him, my sphincter alternately tightens and relaxes, begging for his return.
I moan, not with pleasure this time, but with longing.
I feel his hand on my back. Soft. Firm. His voice sounds low, almost tender. “Calm down, boy. I'm still here.” He strokes my spine with his fingers, slowly, reassuringly. “You have no idea how beautiful you are like this. Open, yearning.” He leans toward me, his lips touching my ear. “This was just the introduction.”
I shiver. Not from cold, but from anticipation.
Milan stands up, and I hear the soft click of the wooden box. His voice, soft but stern and horny: “I want you to receive me like no one else can. Completely. Without restraint. But to get there...” He pauses, just long enough. “You have to sink even deeper.”
I turn my head slightly, my cheek against the cool leather of the bed. “Deeper?” I whisper hoarsely.
His hand rests on my ass again. “Yes, sweetheart. Trust me. I'll take you there. All you have to do is let go.”
I calm down a little. “I trust you, Milan,” I whisper. But my voice betrays my desire. The anticipation. The horniness.
Milan takes my wrists, one by one, and ties them to the bed. Then he picks up a metal spreader bar. Calm, precise. My feet slide into it, he secures them. I lie defenseless. My ass in the air, my whole body open to him. And yet: it feels so good. This is exactly how it should be between us. No fear, only intoxication. Only surrender.
I hear the cabinet next to the bed open. Milan takes something; I recognize it immediately. He holds it up, and in his gaze I see a mixture of mockery and tenderness. The leather paddle. The same one that had been on my nightstand all this time. As a joke. As a promise. As a warning.
I smile, sincerely. “Of course,” I whisper. “That thing.”
Milan kneels behind me on the bed. His hand rests on my buttocks for a moment, firm, reassuring. “Let it happen,” he says softly. “No rush, no goal. Just feel.”
I breathe in slowly. My wrists pull lightly on the cuffs with each breath. My legs are spread, trapped; but I feel freer than ever.
The first slap lands. Not hard. A slap that makes more noise than it hurts. The leather paddle lands flat on my right buttock, warm and tight. A second slap follows. Left. And again, rhythmically. Milan chooses his spots carefully. He opens my body to his warmth. My ass becomes sensitive, warm, soft. Each slap pushes me further in, further from words, further from time.
He says nothing. Only the sound of the leather paddle on my ass, his calm breathing, audible between the strokes.
I stop counting the strokes and I begin to feel it: the edges of my consciousness become blurred. Everything becomes heavier and lighter at the same time. Slower. I sink.
The heat in my ass ripples through my whole body like a cherished warmth. I can't go anywhere, and I don't have to. Milan is in charge. He lets his authority tingle through my body. The blows become more intense, more painful. I just want more. But only Milan decides.
And Milan stops.
His discipline glows in every fiber of my body. The silence is charged. No blows, no voices, only our breathing. Milan decides. Even when he stops. Especially when he stops. And that only makes me hornier.
“You're ready,” he says, his voice distorted by pure lust.
“Take me, Master!” I cry, yearning, impatient.
In one thrust, his cock penetrates me deeply. No hesitation, no restraint.
I scream. From shock and pleasure.
The tenderness of a moment ago is gone. Master fucks me with animalistic intensity; ruthless, without a second thought for comfort or gentleness. He slaps me to the rhythm of his thrusts. My ass glows. My body bends, takes, burns.
I am his slut. Made for his pleasure. My ass is burning. My cock is pulsing. My head is empty. I only live for him now.
His cock thrusts against my secret spot at an ever-increasing pace. I scream, I know I'm not allowed to without his permission, but it's getting harder and harder. The dark waves of pleasure are turning more and more into total ecstasy.
“Come for me, my slut.”
I now allow all the pleasure Milan gives me in its full intensity. The orgasm comes. Not just from my balls, but totally, from my entire being. My sphincter contracts violently and uncontrollably.
Behind me, I hear a deep growl and a few seconds later I feel his cock pulsing deep inside me. Milan gives me his seed. For the second time.
He sinks down on top of me. Nothing moves. Only our breath, heavy and hoarse. My skin against his. His heartbeat in my back. His seed inside me.
A timeless moment of a prolonged, shared orgasm. We remain lying like this, breathing into each other. Seconds, minutes, hours? It doesn't matter anymore. Time has given up its rules, I only obey the rules Milan imposes on me.
Milan lifts himself up and frees me from my restraints, removing the spreader bar. He wraps his arms around me and rocks me gently, cherishing me.
“My perfect little slut.”
------
When I'm in the kitchen getting coffee, Sil stumbles in, looking sleepy. He shuffles carefully to a chair, every step betraying his sore backside.
“Coffee?” I ask.
Sil lowers himself with a groan. His face contorts into a painful grimace as soon as his buttocks touch the chair.
“Yes, please,” he says with a breathless groan.
“Jens fucked you real hard last night?” I say, pouring him a mug.
Sil nods slowly. “It was worth every ache I’ve now got”
As I walk to the table with two mugs of coffee, I notice that I'm not moving very smoothly myself. When my butt hits the chair, a sharp pain shoots through me. Glorious pain, though. My face contorts and I can't suppress a soft groan.
Sil looks at me amused. “Looks like Milan didn't exactly hold back either.”
“I'm still enjoying every second of it,” I sigh contentedly.
At the same time, we take a sip of the hot coffee.
The kitchen door opens. Lars comes in, his hair tousled. His gaze is unfocused, but the moment he sees us sitting a little too upright and a little too quiet, his brows lift in question.
“Well, guys,” he grumbles, stumbling toward a chair. “You both had a night full of love and discipline, or am I mistaken?”
Sil giggles softly. “A little of both.”
“Morning,” he grumbles, sinking down with a sigh, then continues, “Ries was in fine form.”
“So it was a good night,” I say with a smile as I fill his mug.
“He says I need more discipline. Well, I'm having trouble sitting today. Mission accomplished, I guess.”
At that moment, Ivar enters. Freshly showered, his hair still wet, his eyes clear. He wears a simple linen shirt and leather pants, casual yet perfectly fitting. He looks around the circle and says dryly, “You guys look like you had a good time last night.”
“What about you?” Sil asks with a playful grin.
Ivar chuckles, but says nothing. He takes an apple from the bowl and pours himself some coffee. Only when he sits down effortlessly, without a single groan, does he add, “Some of us know how to take their Dominant’s discipline with grace.”
Sil and I exchange glances.
Then Milan appears briefly in the doorway. Not to say anything, just to see me. His gaze slides over me, brief but penetrating. I feel the heat flaring up between my buttocks again.
As soon as he turns and disappears again, I realize I had been holding my breath.
“Wow,” Sil mutters, looking at me. “Milan is a really strict Dominant... Very hot, though.”
------
The days in the House of Loving Authority pass at a pace that is much too fast for me. But right now it is such a lovely, lazy Sunday morning. The smell of freshly baked croissants, coffee, and leather grease mingles in a blend that I now associate with “home.” Sil kneels at Jens’ feet, polishing his boots, his tongue just a little too visible at the corner of his mouth to look innocent. Jens, meanwhile, is leafing through a book on the history of Temple education, one hand resting on Sil's hair as if he has forgotten he is touching him.
Ries and Lars sit next to each other on the sofa, in their own bubble of gentle touches and silent connection. Ivar is stretched out on the carpet, his head resting in Haukon's lap. He is still recovering from a morning disciplinary session. He is beaming, his eyes half closed, his smile languid and content. Haukon reads aloud from an old book of Balder's wisdom, his fingers playing thoughtlessly with Ivar's hair.
I sit at the table, polishing leather. Milan has asked me to take care of his belts, bracelets, and leather pants. Not as punishment, but as an honor. My wrists are still slightly scraped from last night, my ass glowing and sensitive with every movement on the wooden chair. But I feel light. Grounded and loved.
Sil looks up briefly, his face slightly sweaty, and grins when he sees how carefully I massage the leather between my fingers. “Do you give everything that belongs to him that much love?”
I grin back. “Of course.”
Jens bursts out laughing. “He'll start purring soon.”
“He purred last night,” says Milan, who has just entered. His voice is calm and deep, but I can hear the amusement. He walks behind me and slides a finger down my neck, over my shoulder. “You were beautiful last night, sweetheart. You are becoming the boy I always saw in you.”
My heart skips a beat. Becoming. Not already. But I know: that's how he sees me. As a process. As a promise he's guarding.
He picks up the polished bracelet, weighs it in his hand, and then puts it on his left wrist. “Perfect,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.
Ries looks up. “You're glowing, Jelte.”
I blush. “I feel... like I finally know where I belong.”
Ivar opens his eyes and says languidly, “That's exactly the point.”
Haukon looks up from his book, his gaze warm. “Belonging is something you maintain. With dedication. With discipline. And with love.”
“I know,” I say softly. “And I want nothing more.”
Later, as we prepare lunch, I cut the bread. His hand slides past my butt as he walks behind me, just for a moment, but I feel it all the way to my toes. He doesn't have to say anything. I am his.
And everyone here knows it.
I look at him gratefully, but as I look at him, I see something in his eyes that I don't understand. As if he's not quite there for a moment. As if he's... doubting? But then he smiles again. The moment has passed.
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